


Decennial celebration

by florahart



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, little old men in love, shut up I like sap, snuggling because they can, superheroes don't all die on the job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hey, just because Phil is eighty is no reason there can't be vigorous cuddling, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decennial celebration

**Author's Note:**

> So, I saw a reference to Clint/Phil growing old together, and apparently it was absolutely necessary that I write that immediately.

"You think he's ever going to give that thing up?" 

Clint turned to follow Phil's line of sight, and shook his head. "Any sense, he'd have retired the suit and stopped building new ones fifteen years ago, maybe twenty, so I'm going to go with no." He watched Tony blast off for no good reason--even now, they'd have gotten the courtesy alert if the team was going anywhere important--and followed the arc of his trajectory high into the sky to check his direction.

Okay, he was _mostly_ sure they'd have gotten a courtesy alert. Sure, Hill and Sitwell were as retired as they were, and the new guy in the big chair was kind of an asshole with a little bit too much love for the concept of need to know (what else was new), but still, JARVIS was functionally immortal, and Steve was only barely convincing if he claimed to be thirty. 

Yeah, someone would have dropped something into the ether for them. Stark was probably just going shopping for a drop of sunrise Himalayan dew, fresh-caught for his lady-love, or some damn thing.

He picked up the rubber band off the heavy glass of the balcony table.

"You break it, you buy it," Phil said. He liked rubber bands made of actual rubber, and any more, that meant most of the ones in the apartment were old and fragile.

"Just because only paper-pushers in their eighties even use these things any more--"

"I turned eighty _last night_. Technically, I am in my eighties in the same way a ten-year-old is a teenager. And my age is not germane to the cost of rubber bands."

"Ten doesn't end in teen." Clint chewed his lip for a second. "Unless -teen is some sort of etymological bastard 'and ten' thing. But eighty starts with eighty, ergo."

Phil peered carefully along the lines and columns of his crossword, then set it down and changed glasses. "Is that so?"

"Hey, I don't like being in my seventies all that much, you know. I still expect my body to be thirty-five every single morning. It never is."

"Everything still works," Phil said, looking Clint up and down. "And it doesn't hurt to look at you."

"Were you hoping to accomplish something with your flattery?" Clint shook his head. "Because, I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but I'm kind of a sure thing." He stretched the rubber band between his thumb and first finger.

"Oh?"

"Well. I think the last time I turned you down was nineteen years ago, and that was because I got hit with that gross--"

"Let's not relive the experience. This is one of the benefits of aging," Phil said. "Choosing which parts to recall."

"Yeah, well, I choose all the parts with you. So there." 

"In that case," Phil said, folding his newspaper and setting it aside, "I suggest you help the elderly little man into the house and resist the urge to destroy his things."

Clint snapped the band at the baggy elbow of Phil's cardigan, then scooped it up off the floor where it had landed. "Still pristine, by the way. Why am I helping you into the house?" He stood and offered an arm up, walking even more slowly than Phil needed because despite the frailty of Phil's body, repaired after Loki but subsequently fragile and never the less re-abused several dozen more times, he was still competitive and didn't like to feel he was holding anyone back. Even Clint. Maybe especially Clint.

"Because, as someone has recently reminded me, we failed to perform the requisite decennial celebration last night. And you know what that means."

Clint grinned. "Paperwork?"

"No, it means we're behind schedule. And you know how I feel about that. By the way, I could make some, if you'd like. Paperwork. Stark hooked up the old printer in the study, just for me."

"He is _such_ a sap."

"Yes, Tony Stark. Genius billionaire--"

"-- _trill_ ionaire."

"That's a function of inflation. But, fine. Genius _trillionaire_ playboy philanthropist sap."

"I call 'em like I see 'em, boss."

Phil chuckled and turned past the table. "You always have. But as I was saying, I'd rather put off the paperwork, if you don't mind."

"Something you like _better than paperwork_?" Clint asked. "You sure?"

"Mmyes," Phil said. "You." He stopped at the door and pushed Clint ahead of him. "Now get on that bed. We have some vigorous make-up cuddling to do."

"Cuddling?"

"At least. But just in case--on the off chance, you understand--that it turns into appropriately celebratory-of-decennial sex and gets us back on schedule, well. I have it on good authority Stark's throwing us an anniversary party tonight, and we'll want time for napping."

Clint arched a brow. "Good authority?"

Phil shrugged and pulled off his cardigan. "I think Steve still worries I'll die of a heart attack if there's a good shock."

"Fair enough, since there was that one time you _did_. Why's Stark--"

"I got better. And how many more round numbers you think he thinks he'll get to shower us with things because he's bad at feelings?" Phil chucked his pants, then tugged at Clint's flannel. "You're overdressed, soldier."

"Oh my god I hope JARVIS was recording that," Clint said. "Overdressed!" He pulled off the shirt and let his jeans fall to the floor. "And at least one more, is how many. Thirty won't do."

Phil nodded and turned down the cover to sit on the sheet. "Yes, well, it's the only area in which I plan to remain behind schedule." He lay down and held up the sheet, laughing when Clint posed in his underwear and then slowly stripped them off. "Maybe more than a cuddle, then," he said.

"Maybe?" Clint shoved a hand up under Phil's shirt and pressed up against him. "I was going more for definitely. Anniversary, birthday, schedule, my hot-ass boyfriend dragging me to bed? Yeah, 'maybe' is low-balling it, sir."

"Good."


End file.
